


If It's From You

by poes



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas fic!, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Merry Christmas Benji I'm Love You, Or The Dawning Fic I Suppose, mlm author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poes/pseuds/poes
Summary: Banshee-44 wasn’t usually that into the holidays. Sure, the decorations were pretty, and the overall cheer in the air was pleasant enough. People seemed friendlier, more willing to forgive and happier to spend money. It wasn’t that he was a grouch or anything; more like he’d seen enough of the holidays (and forgotten enough of them) that the cheer that seemed to seep into everyone else’s bodies and wake them up like animals after hibernation just… didn’t quite do the same thing for him.Or, at least, it hadn’t. Before.Before… Jonquil, that was.--Banshee-44's never been good at giving presents, but that's what a boyfriend does.





	If It's From You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beenomorph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenomorph/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Benji! I hope you like this one as much as the last one skjdhskj.
> 
> For other readers, here's a ref for you of [Jonquil-9](http://rewhined.tumblr.com/post/166275348928), who is adorable and whom you should appreciate, and my boy who makes an appearance in this story, [Riot-5.](http://poes.tumblr.com/post/168882425642/hm-love-that-beautiful-boy)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Every robot boy is worth love.

The Last City was good for a lot of things.

It was good for keeping a lot of people safe. It was good for a base, a place to call home for all the guardians of the light and all the citizens they needed to protect. It was good for Banshee’s mind, to have something familiar to wake up to every morning. It was better for his memory, to go to the same place every morning, to see the same people working alongside him, to be reminded of the little things. It made life easy.

It was also good for putting a bunch of guardians — notoriously silly creatures, reckless and known for their tendency to do things just because they could — all in one spot when the time for holidays came careening at them at breakneck speed.

Banshee-44 wasn’t usually that into the holidays. Sure, the decorations were pretty, and the overall cheer in the air was pleasant enough. People seemed friendlier, more willing to forgive and happier to spend money. It wasn’t that he was a grouch or anything; more like he’d seen enough of the holidays (and forgotten enough of them) that the cheer that seemed to seep into everyone else’s bodies and wake them up like animals after hibernation just… didn’t quite do the same thing for him.

Or, at least, it hadn’t. Before.

Before… Jonquil, that was.

Things were still tentatively new between them. There wasn’t a proper word for what they had; Banshee felt himself feeling trite and silly saying the word _boyfriend,_ like kid or a human. Still, he supposed that was the best term for Jonquil, the man that touched his hand and gave him looks that sent sparks up and down his spinal ridges, the man who came by every morning now and sometimes seemed like he was overwhelmed just by the sight of Banshee, however meager it was.

The man that made Banshee feel like maybe he wasn’t too broken to have this kind of thing.

Maybe the only person in the galaxy who could do that, you know? Who knew. Not Banshee. He didn’t know much about romance at all, but whatever he was doing seemed to be working. Banshee remembers the electric tension between them whenever they were alone, the way Jonquil looked like he wanted to kiss him sometimes and how Banshee was too much of a coward to initiate.

He flexes his fingers as he pulls on the small, ragged green cloak he always wears. He’s had it for so many wipes that he can actually remember wearing it in battles that he can’t remember anything other part of. It’s so old it doesn’t even bring warmth anymore, really, but the habit of pulling it on is familiar, he guesses. The fabric is threadbare between his fingers as he tugs it around his shoulders. He hums, then shrugs. It’s fine.

As he preps his station for the day, he looks up just in time for snow to begin falling down onto the city’s metal ground. There’s already a thick blanket, trampled down only on the usual pathways that guardians walk to traverse around the city. It’s early enough that the number of people out and about is sparse, but the few that are out tip their heads back and Banshee watches their faces light up.

Banshee shivers.

Maybe he also wasn’t so into this season because it was always so cold. His internal heaters don’t have the same kick that they used to. He gets chilled by the snow easily, usually only stepping out from behind his counter if the sun was high enough that he might catch some warmth from it.

Still, the white snowflakes do remind Banshee of the upcoming Dawning celebration. The time to give gifts to the important people in your life, to race sparrows with your fellows and make up more dangerous games in the Crucible. Still, to Banshee, the most important point was that first one.

Gifts.

Banshee… wasn’t really much of a gift giver, if he was being honest. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to, or didn’t _want_ to, he just… didn’t have the knack that people seemed to have. All he knew were guns, and somehow giving people guns didn’t exactly seem festive. He knows his friends and coworkers would appreciate it, and to be completely honest, knowing himself, that’s probably what they’re going to end up getting. Still, it just reminds him of how incompetent he is at this, and that brings his mind back to Joey.

 _Jonquil._ Jonquil seemed to have little fondness for the nickname some of his older friends had designated him with. Banshee privately thinks it’s cute and that is suits him, but again… not really sure about the whole romance thing. Would it count as a pet name if it was what all his friends called him anyway?

Ugh. Banshee rubs his head and then rubs his hands together, hoping the fabric of his gloves will friction together to put some warmth in them.

He had to get Jonquil something… really special. Something a good… _boyfriend…_ would get.

The gunsmith exhales softly and watches the heat escape in a silvery curl from his mouth.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered to no one in particular, and then jumped when a voice rumbled out beside him.

“Already? The day just started.”

Banshee recognizes the voice before he turns, but is still slightly surprised when the tilt of his head reveals Riot-5, one of the more well-known guardians of the current day and age. Well-known as in he’d been there when the Traveler had struck Ghaul down, but Banshee found it hard to tell who was famous or anything anymore. He’d armed too many famous guardians to constantly keep tabs on who was number one anymore, but he did know that Riot, while not one of the guardians of old or anything, had been around during the time of Crota and Oryx, and had been part of the fireteam that led the charge against them, and many others.

He was also someone Banshee kind of liked talking to. He was around a lot more often ever since he and Jonquil had begun their… relationship. Apparently Riot and Jonquil were friends, as well.

Riot’s Ghost floats quietly at his side, looking over the weapons Banshee has on his counter as Riot leans against it casually. Banshee eyes the fur-lined hood of his cloak, and shivers.

Riot doesn’t seem to notice, his glowing yellow eyes flicking up to the snow that’s falling as he lets out a low hum. “Not a fan of winter?”

Banshee huffs and resumes setting up his stall. “S’cold.”

“Mmm. And stressful. I fight monsters every day and I’m still the most antsy whenever this time of the year comes up.” Riot’s oral lights glow soft red with shared amusement as Banshee grumbles a laugh.

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s eating you?”

Banshee sighs at the question and pauses in his work, also leaning against the counter beside the guardian and rubbing at his head, letting his fingers brush past the nodes there. “The Dawning. I don’t know gifts.”

“Ah.” Riot turns his head and now his look is less amused and more sympathetic. “I understand.”

There’s a moment of quiet as they both watch Jonquil’s office light up from within; he’s in for the day and probably there to tidy up before coming down to say hi. Riot taps his fingers on his bicep.

“You know he’ll like anything you get him.”

“That’s not the point,” Banshee sighs. “I don’t want him to like it because I gave it to him, I want him to like it because it’s _good.”_

Riot’s fingers trace the edges of his Ghost’s shell contemplatively; the Ghost seems to preen under the attention, despite the thoughtful look in the guardian’s eyes that show he’s a little lost in thought. “Hm. I get it. I know how you feel.”

Banshee lifts an eyebrow, but before he can question the nature of Riot’s problem, Jonquil is coming down the stairs and glowing a smile at them both. He has a thermos in his hands.

“Hi,” he says, and despite himself, Banshee straightens and feels his circuits whir.

“Hi,” he responds, and something about it must betray something, because Riot’s face shifts from thoughtful to mildly amused again.

“Hey, Joey,” Riot replies, and hearing that, Banshee also hears just how lovestruck his own reply sounded. He tries to scrub the embarrassment out of his face as he returns to cleaning up, but his motions falter, predictably, as Jonquil comes closer, his antennae perked cheerfully.

“Chilly out, huh?” he says, and his eyes flick from Riot to Banshee with the question sitting in them.

“I’m fine,” Riot responds, shrugging easily.

Banshee eyes the guardian a little enviously before shrugging himself. “It’s been chillier,” he responds gruffly, “but yeah. I’m cold-natured.”

Jonquil’s face grows sympathetic and he holds out the thermos to Banshee. “I figured you were. Here.”

Their fingers brush as Banshee takes the thermos. Banshee feels his wiring spark again and has to struggle to not start glowing all over in the presence of anyone besides Jonquil. “Thanks, Jon.”

“It’s hot chocolate,” Jonquil replies, waving a hand like it’s no big deal. “I know you probably already had your coffee, so… something else to help warm you up a little. I hope you like it a little sweet.”

Banshee blinks at him, at how he’s so unabashedly thoughtful. How could he have known that warm drinks were one of the best way to make Banshee feel like he wasn’t slowly freezing his joints solid? Had he ever mentioned it, or was Jonquil just that good? Was he overthinking this? By the way Riot cuts him a look, he thinks maybe so.

“Thanks,” he says, lamely, but Jonquil’s antennae just flick with fondness before he chuckles.

“No problem.” He moves a little closer, touches Banshee’s hand that’s curled around the thermos. “Wanna grab dinner later?”

“Sure,” Banshee says, still lamely, and brushes his fingers up underneath Jonquil’s hand in a small attempt at reciprocation. There’s a moment where they share a look that makes Banshee want to follow him up to his office, but he doesn’t move from behind his counter as Jonquil shines a small smile at him and pulls away.

“Okay. See you later, then.” The botanist waves one hand and hurries back indoors to his office, where Banshee pictures him rubbing his hands together and letting out a big shiver and maybe drinking some hot cocoa of his own.

Riot eyes him sideways. Banshee eyes him back.

“I would say you’re hopeless, but… you’re both about the same level, so it’ll work out,” the guardian says after a second, and Banshee scoffs.

“If you say so,” he says, and is about to keep talking, but suddenly Riot straightens up and abruptly attempts to smooth down his wind-ruffled fur. Tracking his eyes, Banshee finds the vanguard coming out of the housing area themselves, all looking pristine as ever.

The day was truly starting, then.

“Got a mission?” Banshee asks, and Riot looks over, suddenly seeming embarrassed.

“Something like that,” the hunter mutters, and then waves as well. “Later.”

Banshee watches Riot walk over with a bit more guff than usual, back straight and hood pulled back as he reports to his class’ vanguard; Cayde-6. Banshee snorts again, more quietly. Poor Riot.

He bends and finishes the last of putting all his stuff up, and then undoes the lid on the thermos. It has a small leaf design printed up the side of it, and Banshee feels a burst of fondness for his… boyfriend… filter into him like sunlight.

The cocoa is just sweet enough, and the gunsmith heaves a sigh.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

 

* * *

 

Answers don’t come quickly. Days pass as Banshee agonizes over what to get Jonquil and the snow just gets heavier and heavier. Banshee shivers underneath his station and drinks way too much hot cocoa and sometimes pretends he needs to talk to Jonquil about something just so he can come indoors for a little while.

Jonquil is obviously planning something, as well; there have been a couple of times where Banshee comes in and Jonquil quickly shoves something underneath his desk before Banshee can see what it is. He always acts so coy, too, his face mischievous and playful, and while the expression makes humor and interest curl in Banshee’s chest, it also leaves him just knowing he isn’t going to be able to match up with what his boyfriend got him.

Riot is no help; the man himself seems to be struggling with what to get for his friends, as well, and outright denies helping Banshee because _I’m not the one dating him._ Going to Pablo and Evv-7 is only a little better, but they’re out and about more often than not, and Banshee isn’t the type to track people down and expose himself for being a bad boyfriend. In the end, he just asks them what they got him, pretending it’s to make sure they don’t have the same thing.

He’s hopeless. He’s really hopeless.

It all culminates when he and Jonquil are eating dinner together one night. They’re back in their usual spot, a quiet place along the wall and under the Traveler’s watch, where they first touched hands. Banshee is fond of the place, even if now his legs and butt are on the snow instead of the warmth of the ground.

Another hopeless endeavor on trying to discern what the xeno-culturist wanted without outright asking had gone terribly wrong, and Banshee is staring across at the other Exo, simultaneously filled with affection and despair.

Jonquil’s eyes are glowing with anything _but_ despair, however; he is animated, chatting between bites of food and making lighthearted comments about how good the ramen is even after having it a hundred times. He eats the egg in two bites and hums happily, and Banshee could die.

He stares in a slight daze for a moment, his food already mostly gone (stress-eating was a real thing), and then Jonquil clears his throat and snaps Banshee out of it.

“Um,” his boyfriend says, with a kind of hesitancy in his voice that immediately makes Banshee’s internal fans start up, “so there’s kind of that big party they have every year for the Dawning. Where everyone kind of gets together and eats and drinks and… exchanges presents.” His blue eyes are silver-sheened in the moonlight as he peers up at Banshee; the gunsmith wonders at how he can manage to look so cute despite being so much bigger than Banshee. “I mean… I know you’re not super into the holiday season or anything, but… did you… I mean. Were you going to… go… to that? Everyone’s gonna be there… the vanguard, and a lot of the guardians… everyone’s kind of taking a break for the day. So…”

Banshee considers. He hasn’t ever been a big part of that whole thing. If anything, he showed up for the food and left, preferring to give and receive presents in privacy to the few people that he had to exchange stuff with. But Jonquil is looking at him with a light in his eyes that Banshee kind of feels like it would be alarmingly easy to put out by saying the wrong thing.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I… I mean, I don’t really… uh… yes. I’d like to go if I… could spend time with you there.”

Jonquil’s antennae perk. “Really? You aren’t just saying that?”

Banshee reviews his words and finds that he isn’t. The party would be tolerable if he could sit at Jonquil’s side and talk to a few people that actually listened to what he had to say. It wasn’t his normal scene, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. It didn’t even mean he couldn’t _enjoy_ it, if he let himself. “I’m not just saying that. It’s not my… usual Dawning tradition… but if you’re there… I’d have fun.”

Banshee can hear Jonquil’s fans turn on too, and has to bite back a grin as the other Exo looks down at his bowl of ramen to hide his face. “Oh. Good. Okay… good… I… think it’ll be fun, too.” After a moment, he looks up, and tilts his head to one side. “What’s your usual tradition?”

“Polishing the rifle,” Banshee replies wryly, and Jonquil laughs, big shoulders shaking a little with it.

Gazing across at him, at the obvious happiness radiating around him, Banshee can’t help but feel warmth re-enter his circuitry despite the cold in the air. He’s like light embodied; Banshee can’t help but turn like one of Jonquil’s own flowers into the glow. Despite his misgivings about the holiday season and… well, everything… Jonquil had something in him that made it easy to let those things go.

Banshee exhales, and as Jonquil’s laughter dies down, he feels that warmth in him continue to glow.

And he has an idea.

Not a great one, but enough of one that the prospect of making this holiday… bearable.

 

* * *

 

The Dawning celebration comes faster than Banshee expects. There’s the dinner where Jon asks him, and then it feels like Banshee blinks and the time has come for the evening.

The decorations, already beautiful for the season, had been especially amped up tonight. Everything is draped in golds and blues and whites, lighting up the snow on the ground and making the entire city sparkle like a bauble on a tree. Banshee feels like if he looks up for too long all the lights will blind him, but there’s a lightness in his step tonight that makes it hard for him to feel dour about it. Despite himself, he finds that he’s a little caught up in the cheer. He can hear music drifting towards him from where all the guardians are gathered, low and not too intrusive. Before, the songs always seemed so loud, but tonight they’re just pleasant background noise.

He feels… good.

His present for Jonquil is in his careful hands, steady from years of working on volatile weaponry. Everyone else had already received their customary guns with specialized mods.

As Banshee passes under the lit-up gate that opens into the main area of the Last City, his eyes search the crowd of guardians, and he can see a couple of people showing each other the weaponry he’d given them. Shaxx regales Ikora with the classy white-and-orange shotgun with the field choke and linear compensator Banshee had slid his way earlier in the day. It still has the bow Banshee had added more for comedic effect than anything on the top. Ikora looks suitably impressed, and Banshee guesses she left her pulse rifle back in her own room. The two of them catch his eye as he enters and nod hellos; he can’t see Shaxx’s face, of course, but Ikora seems mildly surprised to see him. He wonders if he’ll be getting looks like that all night before sighing and turning his head the other way.

Over by the food area, Banshee can see Riot, and beside him—

Beside him, there’s Jonquil.

Banshee feels his old processor skip a beat.

Jonquil tended to wear the same thing most days, just like the rest of the vendors in the city. Sure, every so often the robes would change, but it was never anything dramatic.

Now, he’s wearing robes so rich a blue that Banshee almost struggles to parse it from the background of the evening sky. The robes flutter, open in the front and long around the back, revealing the slim-cut pants underneath; black. Black boots match them, but they’re lined with silver metal that matches the silvery sheen on the fabric of the main piece that Jonquil wears. There are delicate silver designs all over the sleeves and chest part of the robes, a matching sash cinches his middle, and silver-white fur peeks out from under the robes around Jonquil’s neck, surely adding a layer of warmth to the entire outfit that just… so personified his boyfriend that Banshee can suddenly feel heat coming off of his own body that has nothing to do with his own clothing.

He looks incredible. He always looked great, of course, but the cut of the fabric shows off Jonquil’s broad chest and shoulders, the trim waist and long legs. If his mouth could feel dry, it would, and despite himself Banshee’s hands give a little clench around the present he’d so delicately, pain-stakingly wrapped earlier.

 _Get the hell out of here what are you doing that can’t be him, that can’t be someone that agreed to hold your hand and stuff,_ says the voice in his head, _that can’t be someone who personally wants you to be here. Look at him._

Banshee finds himself tending to agree, but before his weird fight or flight instinct can send him running, Riot looks over from where he’d been scanning the crowd and spots him. He lifts a hand in greeting. Jonquil turns to see who he’s waving at. They meet eyes. Jonquil instantly brightens, his antennae immediately snapping from relaxed to excited. Banshee’s knees give a mighty effort and prevent themselves from shaking, but only just.

_Have mercy._

His legs carry him through the crowd before he can realize what he’s doing, and then he’s there, and Joey is huge, and strong, and glowing a smile at him so dazzling that Banshee has to wonder if he’s maybe dreaming.

“Hi,” Jonquil says, looking so happy to see him.

“H,” Banshee tries, and then clears his throat, “Hey. Wow. Hi.”

Jonquil’s face flickers to confusion before Riot leans closer, his own face slightly smug. Very few people saw the guardian as emotive as he tended to be around Jonquil, which only made the expression that much more irritating. “You’re welcome for this,” the hunter says, and waves a hand down Joey’s body like he’s presenting him. “He looks great, right?”

The question is pointed, and Banshee’s mouth works for a minute before he catches on.

“You look incredible,” he says, snapping his eyes to Jonquil’s face and deciding to ignore Riot for the moment. The hunter snorts a laugh, but Jonquil’s antennae flicker in what seems to be embarrassment, or maybe shyness; he dips his head and his own laugh is more delicate. Banshee wants to eat it up.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, running his hands down his front and then folding them behind his back like he’s trying to compose himself. “You look great, too.”

Banshee looks down at himself. His outfit is only slightly nicer than what he usually wears; he’d dressed himself in the only blue and white attire he had, to match the Dawning’s color scheme, and even that was by no means nearly as gorgeous as what Jonquil had on. Still, he supposes it’s a little classier without the dirt and grime and ragged green shoulder cover.

“If you say so,” he responds, and lets his eyes return to the other Exo, sweeping down his body again before he can help himself. “Wow.”

Jonquil’s practically giving off waves of heat, and Banshee appreciates it. It feels good, knowing he can somehow fluster this man that should be completely out of his league in the first place.

When he meets his companion’s eyes again, he can see that they’re curiously perched on the gift Banshee had half-forgotten about in his hands, but they snap up when Banshee looks at him. Still, Banshee once again feels a little self-conscious about his gift, instantly wondering if it was too cheesy, or too obvious, or the wrong thing, but Jonquil just tilts his head. “You didn’t have to get me anything…”

Banshee frowns. “Of course I did. It’s the Dawning, and we’re…” he blinks, now a little flustered himself, “... we belong to each other, so… of course I did. I mean—” He looks up, waving one hand. “If you didn’t get me anything, that’s fine… just seeing you is present enough—”

Jonquil’s eyes glow with amusement and affection. “I got you something.”

Relief. “Okay. I just— you know. Sorry, I.” Banshee huffs and rubs his head with his free hand. “Geez. I’m all hot. Look at you.”

Jonquil instantly looks shy again, and the two of them shuffle feet for a second before Riot suddenly tenses up, and Jonquil looks up to see what happened. When he does, his face shifts back into amusement.

“I’ll go get us a drink,” Jonquil says, and tips his head towards Riot as he passes by Banshee, giving his hand a brief squeeze as he does so. Banshee fights back the sparks in his stomach and turns his head to follow Riot’s gaze; what he finds is Cayde-6. The hunters’ vanguard is looking back over at their little group and lifting a finger gun to pretend shoot at them. Riot’s internal fans give a just-loud-enough kick on.

Things click. “Oh. Oh, you poor sap.”

Riot’s head snaps around. “Don’t— after all I did for you!” He moves to gesture to Jonquil again, then looks surprised to see the man already gone. Banshee chuckles before he can help it.

“Do you know how many people are in love with that guy?” he says, and Riot blinks, and then slumps, and Banshee feels like an asshole.

“Yeah,” Riot says, looking back over at Cayde, who is back to talking to Zavala about something. He has what looks like mistletoe attached to the end of his horn; Zavala is frowning at him with barely concealed amusement on his face. “Yeah, I do.”

Banshee rubs the top of his head, trying to find some way to take the words back, but before he can, Cayde turns back to look at their little group and pretends that he isn’t doing it. When he sees Riot is still looking, he continues behaving very animatedly, waving his hands around and generally trying to garner attention. He checks to make sure Riot is looking again.

More things click.

He leans against the balcony beside Riot and tilts his head closer to the Exo, who, now that he’s looking, does actually look very nice as well. Riot was a little better about getting new clothing and armor every so often, as he was on the field a lot more than the rest of them, but even Banshee can tell he put a little more effort into his appearance tonight; where he usually wears black and gold, tonight he’s also dressed in white and blue, with the occasional touch of gold thrown in. Even his horns look polished, he notes with some humor.

He folds his arms and lets his shoulder bump Riot’s. “Yeah, a lot of people would fight the world to be the center of that man’s attention. I have no clue why, but eh. Some people have bad taste.” Riot cuts him a look and Banshee snickers before continuing. “Thing is, it doesn’t really matter what everyone else wants. It matters what he wants. _Who_ he wants.”

Riot’s look turns more self-deprecating. “Well, yeah, but…”

Banshee rolls his eyes. “He’s looked over here like 5 times. He’s practically begging you to go over there, he’s just too up his own ass to make a move himself.” He looks over at the hunter, and tips his head over towards Cayde. “Just go. He gave you the excuse and everything with that stupid plant attached to his head.”

“The plant’s cute,” Riot replies, in a hopeless kind of way, but before Banshee can thunk him in the head, Jonquil returns with warm cocoa for himself and Banshee. He passes it over as Riot gives him an insulted look.

“You didn’t get me one?”

“Get one yourself,” Jonquil replies, good-naturedly, and then smirks at him over his cup. “I’ll bet Cayde is parched from all the talking he’s doing. Bring him one, too.”

Riot looks between the two of them, frowning, and then a little helpless. “But what if—”

Jonquil gets a hand behind Riot and pushes him towards the drinks table. “Go. I want to spend time with Banshee. Go away.”

Riot stumbles a step and throws a glare over his shoulder, but he does todder off towards the drink table and grab a cup of cocoa. He seems to deliberate, and then grabs a second one. Banshee hides his smile behind a hand as he turns back to Jonquil.

“Man,” Jonquil says, his voice taking on a teasing tone, “some people need to not worry so much about the guy they like.”

Banshee’s smile flips to a smirk. “I know, right. I wonder what it’s like to stare at someone for months without ever making a move.”

Jonquil’s voice is laced with laughter as his hands, carefully, find Banshee’s waist. Banshee’s processors pick up the pace, painting Jonquil in 10x more detail as his optic camera sharpen and intense in a mimicry of adrenaline. “Who knows. Only nerds, probably.”

“Probably,” Banshee manages in return, and looks up at the man whose hands are twin points of heat on his body, warming him down to his central core.

Jonquil’s smile fades into something more thoughtful as the two of them look at each other, and its like the rest of the room fades as Banshee hyperfocuses on the details of Jonquil’s face. The cracks in his faceplates from scars he still hasn’t told all the stories for. The bright blue stripes breaking apart the orange like lightning through a sunset. The glow of his electric eyes.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he finds himself leaning up into him. Jonquil’s gaze goes from thoughtful to hazy, and he leans down, too, the hands on Banshee’s waist pulling just a little.

_Bonk._

They both jerk as the present Banshee still has in his hands prevents them from leaning close enough, and Jonquil’s face goes from blurry to embarrassed in an instant. He leans back, heat coming off him in waves, and rubs his hands over his face.

“Right,” Banshee says, and laughs, and leans back too. “Uh, okay, maybe we should… do this, so we don’t…”

“Right,” Jonquil repeats, and turns to the area behind him, picking up a present that had been leaning against the balcony that Banshee hadn’t even seen before in his own distraction.

“Okay, uh,” Jonquil continues, and the pair of them shift on their feet a little before Jonquil thrusts his gift out. “Here, let’s trade. You first.”

Banshee immediately feels nerves light up his stomach, wondering what it was that Jonquil had so thoughtfully picked out for him, but he doesn’t argue as he takes the long rectangular package.

It’s wrapped neatly in blue and yellow striped paper. Banshee makes the connection between his own coloring and smirks up at Jonquil as they swap their humor before he gently opens the thing up.

Inside is a box, and when Banshee opens that, there’s paper covering the contents. He lets out a chuckle and Jonquil accompanies him.

“I wanted to be sure it was protected!” Jonquil says, but before he finishes, Banshee has pulled the paper back and finds himself staring.

It’s… what looks like a sweater. But not something bought from a store; Banshee can instantly tell by the way the fabric is stitched that it was done by hand. It’s a little bulky, truth be told, but that just proves the authenticity of it being hand-crafted. The main fabric of the sweater is orange. Upon closer inspection, Banshee sees that there are bright blue patterns woven in alongside it; the pattern of leaves and flowers that are shaped like snowflakes.

It’s the same colors as Joey’s eye-catching paint job.

Banshee looks up, stunned, and blinks at the nervous look on Jonquil’s face. “Did you… make this?”

Jonquil winces a little. “Yeah. I know it’s… kinda bulky and not like… uh…”

He pauses as Banshee pulls the sweater from the box and then drops the box on the ground, eagerly pulling the sweater on. He’s careful to not let his head nodes tug the fabric, and then it’s on, and it’s _warm_ and it’s _wonderful._

“I was fucking freezing,” Banshee says, and wraps his arms around himself with a big shiver. “Oh Light. This is the best thing you could’ve ever gotten me.” He dips his head so he can get the bottom half of his chin in the fabric of the neck, and exhales as warm immediately covers the area. Banshee barely suppresses a groan. “I’m never taking this off. I want to live in this thing forever.”

Jonquil’s face has shifted from uncertain to amusedly delighted. “Really? You aren’t just saying that?”

Banshee peers at him from over the collar of the sweater. “I’m not just saying that.” He huffs, and brings his arms closer to him. “How are you so perfect? You’re incredible. You knew exactly what I wanted.”

Jonquil’s back to embarrassed. “Oh, come on… I mean, that thing you wear all the time wasn’t doing its job, I just…”

Banshee narrows his eyes. “Where did you learn to make this?”

“Uh…” Jonquil’s eyes flick back towards where Cayde and Zavala had been standing earlier. Cayde is, mysteriously, missing. “I’ll see if I can tell you later.”

Banshee’s eyes narrow further, but before he can prod, Jonquil redirects his attention to the box in his own hands. “Can I—”

Banshee’s palms would be sweating if they could. “Uh… sure… uh, just to… warn you, I didn’t really know what to get you this year, so I…” he trails off, not sure where he was going with it, but Jonquil doesn’t seem to be listening to him anyway, immediately ripping into the present when he was given the go-ahead.

His is also tucked in a box, and Banshee lets out a soft “be careful” before Joey can rip right into it. The warlock flicks him a look, but is gentle as he opens the top part of the upright box, and peers inside.

He blinks, and then peels away the rest of the box, revealing… well.

Banshee had never claimed to be good at this.

Inside is a small pot, filled with dirt. Out of the dirt, there’s a sprout, and hanging off the sprout is a not-quite-open blue flower. Jonquil looks down at it with interest, and after a moment, tilts his head. “A... primrose?” He doesn’t seem sure how to react.

Banshee feels embarrassment roil around in his stomach. “It’s, uh… it’s a… blue zebra… primrose. It’s… they can survive in cold weather… and… bloom in the spring… and this one’s… healthy, I found it on Earth… and uh…” He swallows, knowing Jonquil probably knows all this. “And… it’s blue, with a yellow center… kinda looks like me, and… and I was thinkin’... maybe you could look at it sometimes and be reminded that… um. That you could look at it and maybe… be reminded that…” God, the reasoning in his head is embarrassingly cheesy now. Why had he thought this was a good idea? “... That to me, you’re like the sun… and… being around you… makes me feel like… you’re all I need, sometimes.” His gaze has dropped to Jonquil’s feet. He shuffles. “I know it’s… kinda lame, after you put so much work into this… sweater… if you don’t like it, we can… I can find somethin’ else, just tell me… and—”

Jonquil’s feet move closer before Banshee realizes it, and in an instant he is being wrapped up in strong, broad arms, pulled against Jonquil’s chest and held there like a lifeline.

“I love it,” Jonquil’s voice says against the top of his head, and Banshee feels heat seep into him from all around him, from inside him, blooming in his stomach and growing up into his lungs. Leaves brush the inside of his circuitry and petals blossom in his throat as he feels his breath catch a little.

“You’re… you’re not just—”

“I’m not just saying that.”

Banshee lets his cheek rest on Jonquil’s chest and closes his eyes, so much warmer than he’d been when he first walked into the party. “Okay,” he murmurs, tipping his head and burrowing his face in Jonquil’s pretty blue robes. “Good. I’m… not used to doing this.”

“Me neither,” Jonquil murmurs.

“No wonder we’re so bad,” Banshee chuckles, and he expects a laugh in return, but Jonquil instead gently tugs Banshee back so he can look him in the eyes.

“I don’t think we’re bad at all,” he says. There’s meaning in his voice, meaning that makes Banshee feel all wobbly again, and the gunsmith tries to pull his eyes away, suddenly feeling too intense, too shaky.

Jonquil doesn’t let him, tipping a finger under Banshee’s chin so it forces his eyes up. “I think we’re really good, actually.”

Banshee’s low voice warbles. “Me too,” he says, and is surprised to find he actually means it. Banshee had, for a long time, not thought he was cut out for this romance thing. He had too many problems, too many issues, not enough to give to someone. So many reasons to not have something like this.

And yet… he doesn’t feel like shit, being with Jon. Maybe a little lucky. Okay, a lot lucky. Extremely lucky and unworthy of it, of course, but not… like he wanted to leave. More like he wanted to grow.

And who better to grow with than with a man that made life with just a brush of his fingers and an ounce of care?

Banshee swallows, and Jonquil watches the movement before his eyes flick back up to Banshee’s.

He tips Banshee’s chin a little further up, and when their faceplates bump, Banshee feels an electric shock go through him. They can’t really _kiss,_ per say, as humans did. But this was the same thing; feeling the magnets behind their carapieces line up and buzz near each other, the more sensitive nerve endings on their central ridges, where their noses would be, nudging into one another. Jonquil opens his mouth a little and scrapes the edge against the corner of Banshee’s; Banshee shivers and lifts his hands to wrap around Jonquil’s neck, bringing their faces closer and lacing his fingers into the responsive neck plating on Jonquil’s nape. The intimacy of having their faces so close is enough, and exhilarating, but he takes a tentative step further; he bumps his fingers between the plates there and touches more delicate wiring. Jonquil blinks, and exhales once, twice, before pulling back. _“Banshee,”_ he hisses.

His eyes are electric again. Heated.

Banshee feels a thrill go through him, knowing he did that. He lets one hand trace down Jonquil’s chest and then back up. He runs his thumb along the edge of the botanist’s jaw, tracing back to the hook there and then just along the bottom of his ear; not quite touching the extrasensory antennae, but skirting its edges enough that Jonquil clearly feels it.

He swallows and grabs Banshee’s hand, bringing it to the much safer area on the side of his face and nuzzling into it. The way he looks at Banshee is extremely good for Banshee’s confidence.

“I gotta bring you flowers more often,” he rumbles, and Jonquil’s hot eyes flicker with humor as he laughs, and the lightning between them dulls to a less intense but no less pleasant warmth.

“You don’t need to bring flowers to make me kiss you,” he replies, and bumps their faceplates together again, but more gently this time; a peck, comparatively. Banshee’s chest flutters with butterflies. “But it’d certainly help.”

Banshee snorts, and finally pulls back a little more, letting them breathe a little easier. He glows a grin at his partner; Jonquil beams one back, and they both dissolve into embarrassed laughter as Jonquil’s hands let go of Banshee’s waist.

Everything is warm and feels good. The sweater only adds to it.

Banshee is drawn into Jonquil’s side as the taller Exo wraps an arm around him, turning outward to face the rest of the party again. Many people are paired off in couples; Banshee doubts anyone noticed them. In fact…

He nudges Jonquil’s side, then tips his head forward. “Hey. Look.”

Across the way, Riot and Cayde are talking, close to one another. Riot’s looking down into his cocoa cup, though even from here Banshee can tell its empty. Cayde leans in a little to try and get the other hunter’s attention, and Riot snaps his head up; the two’s horns smack into each other.

Riot, ever the quiet man, lets out a small groan, but Cayde is immediately laughing, clutching his horn with a look off mock-despair on his face. Riot looks up at him, smiling. Cayde smiles back, before pointing at the end of his horn, where the mistletoe is still hanging, though much more loosely now. He says something Banshee can’t catch, but looks something like “how are you gonna fix this?”.

Riot balks, clearly embarrassed, but he doesn’t move away, and doesn’t push Cayde back when the vanguard member moves a little closer, a hand coming out to touch the guardian’s shoulder. He pretends to wipe snow out of the fur in his hood. Riot meets eyes with him and says something Banshee can’t read; now it’s Cayde’s turn to fluster as Riot’s expression turns sly.

Jonquil snorts. “Riot’s had it bad for Cayde for like, over a year. It’s about time he did something.”

Banshee nods. “Says us, the paragons of getting straight to the point.”

“Exactly.”

Banshee smirks up at Jonquil, who snickers under his breath and gently lets his arm drop. “Let’s get some food.” He picks up the primrose in one hand and lets the other hang, clearly waiting for Banshee to grab it.

“Thank the Traveler. Finally, what I actually came here for.”

Jonquil’s laugh is nicer than any sleigh bell Banshee’s ever heard, and when he reaches down to take his boyfriend’s hand, Jonquil laces their fingers together.

Maybe he can get into the holidays after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to commission me for a fic, I'm taking writing commissions [here!](https://twitter.com/gaydameron/status/929478410321190913)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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